Last month, I had to come face to face with that question. If you’re on my newsletter list, you’ve probably heard bits of this story already. But in the most me way possible, I chipped a tooth on a bagel after giving in to a late-night craving (carbs have always been my kryptonite).
At the dentist, a routine X-ray turned up a hidden cavity—one that had been quietly causing trouble for who knows how long. That single cavity turned into a root canal—actually, a double root canal—because the tooth below it was also in danger. The dentist was amazed I wasn’t in a ball of pain on the floor. And just like that, my summer schedule is now filled with dental appointments.
While all this was happening, I found myself thinking about making—about how essential it’s become to who I am.
A few years ago, after leaving a toxic workplace (not the one you’re probably thinking of—don’t try to guess! I’ve scrubbed it from my profiles, lol), I fell into a deep depression. Brushing my teeth felt like running a marathon. And yet, from the outside, you’d never know it. I’ve always been high-functioning when I’m in my lowest points, which means I can look productive even when I’m struggling inside. This dichotomy can make it really difficult to talk myself into getting help. the conversation often looks like:
Me: Hey self, I think you need help.
Voice in my head: But look how productive I am! Could a depressed person do all this?
The answer, of course, is yes.
At my lowest point, the one thing I couldn’t fake, was my knitting. When I’m depressed, the canary in the coal mine is always the same:
I stop making.
I might keep “doing” things—tasks, jobs, posts—to look okay. But the making? That’s just for me. And when I’m struggling, I don’t do things for me.
I’ve gotten help since this time period, and I’m doing much better now. But that time still lingers in my body—a physical reminder of where I was and how far I’ve come.
Over the years, I’ve leaned on my making to carry me through the hard times. It’s my therapy, my sanctuary, my happy place. But last week, that was briefly taken away from me. The pain meds from my dental work made it impossible to knit or crochet—no matter how much I wanted to. And that forced me to ask myself a tough question:
Who am I if I can’t make?
Who am I if I’m not Bobble Club House?
I solved this temporary problem with a temporary solution. I wrote patterns from my bed (coming soon). My making is so intertwined with every part of my life now. It’s my job and my income, yes. But it’s also my best friend at awkward parties, my crutch in hard times, my celebration in good times. It’s the way I process, heal, and share who I am with the world.
I have a few more dental appointments scattered throughout the summer and another big one next week. For a long time, I was just grateful to be out of that dark place, so I boxed up that time in my life and didn’t look at it again. But maybe this is the season to unpack it, to finally look it in the face (literally, lol) and close the chapter.
If there’s one thing I want to share, it’s this: cherish your making. We are so, so lucky to have it. You never know when it might be taken from you—even temporarily. Hold it close.
P.S. If you find yourself in a low point while reading this, please remember: you don’t have to face it alone. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. You are not alone, and help is always within reach.
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